


and i will try to fix you.

by asamiruria



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Coma, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healing, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, first HS fic, i'll just see as i go along i guess, not really sure how this'll go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asamiruria/pseuds/asamiruria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two young men, broken by previous unhealthy relationships, meet at a shelter for male abuse victims. They find solace in each other, and over time, their wounds become less raw. And maybe, just maybe, they will learn to love again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i will try to fix you.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to the first Homestuck fanfic and first multi-chapter fic that I will actually make a concerted effort to finish. The main ship is JohnDave, but possible side pairings may be RoseMary, JaneRoxy and SolKat. 
> 
> I don’t have any real knowledge of how abuse survivors and depression sufferers would act. I researched and wrote this accurately to the best of my ability, but if you feel that I have misrepresented some aspect of any character or event, feel free to put that in the comments and I’ll try to fix it as soon as I can!
> 
> Apologies to Vriska and Terezi lovers; I don't actually hate either of them all that much, but I had to make them act like giant fuckwads for the purpose of this fic.
> 
> Oh, and one more thing, excuse the British spelling. American spelling just doesn’t sit comfortably with me, for some reason. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Your name is John Egbert, and holy _shit_ , what in the seven levels of hell was that noise that just came from the next room over?

You hurriedly dog-ear the page you're on in your biology textbook, and make your way over to the door that connects the study to the living room. You open it, and stop dead, blinking a little to try and process the scene in front of you.

The first thing you notice, as your eyes scan the area, is that the urn containing your precious Nana’s remains isn't on the mantelpiece anymore. Your gaze travels over to the far side of the room, and there it is, shattered into tiny pieces on the floor. There's a sizeable dent in the wall, and fine grey ash spills over the cream carpet.

As you stare incredulously, your mind runs on autopilot, sifting through numbers and figures and estimating the costs of repairing the wall and buying a vacuum cleaner to get the ash and smaller glass shards out of the carpet – oh well, you’d been putting off getting one for ages now, this is your incentive to finally get your butt off the couch and…

What snaps you immediately out of your daze is the sight of one Vriska Serket, your wife of six years. She’s sitting on the plush beige sofa, still dressed in her smart blazer and pressed trousers from work. Her legs are crossed at the ankle and she holds a lit cigarette between her fingers, smoke curling lazily away from the tip. Her face is turned towards you, a nonchalant smirk on her blue-painted lips.

“Vriska, y-you…” You stutter out, still not quite able to form words.

“Yes, John?” She arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow at you, her smirk growing wider.

“D-did you… Did you do that?” Your hands make fumbling gestures at the shattered vase of your Nana's ashes in the corner. Logically, you know that there’s no one else who could have broken it, but you still can’t quite believe it. Patronising and completely inconsiderate of others’ emotions she may be, but even Vriska wouldn’t…

But your suspicions are confirmed when she flips her blonde hair cockily and replies, “Well, do you see anyone else in the house right now, John? It ceeeeeeeertainly wasn’t Casey; she went to sleep early. Good riddance too, that girl is such a fucking nuisance!” She takes a long drag of her cigarette, flicking some glowing ash onto the floor.  

And that’s the last straw. Anger rises in you, white-hot and overwhelming. A roaring starts in your ears, drowning out all your other thoughts. You stalk over to stand in front of Vriska and snatch the cigarette right out of her hand, paying no heed to the way its tip burns your palm. You throw it onto the carpet and stomp on it repeatedly until it’s been turned into a smoking, grey lump. Then you bend down and get your face right up in front of Vriska’s.

“What have I told you about smoking in the house, Vriska?! It’s fine with me if you want to screw up your lungs, but don’t drag everyone else to an early death with you! And how could you _do_ that to my Nana’s ashes? She was— I don’t even—” You’re made incoherent by your anger, stuttered half-words escaping your lips. How do you even articulate the worth of a beloved relative’s remains? It’s something so obvious, something that any person with a shred of empathy would be aware of, that no words exist to sufficiently explain it! It’s like desecrating a grave— like kicking its headstone over, digging up the bones from under the ground, and tossing them into the trash—

Having recovered from her shock at your sudden outburst, Vriska’s sneers derisively. “The idiots in the office were more incompetent than usual today, so I got pissed off and wanted to throw something against the wall. Obviously I couldn’t do that at work, so I just smashed the first thing I saw when I got home.”

Leaning back against the couch with a sigh, she continues: “Honestly, John. You could stand to be a little less sentimental! I get that you loved your Nana, but she’s dead and gone! What was in that vase is exactly the same stuff that a cigarette produces when I smoke it. In fact, that vase was a hundred times more useful just then for helping me vent my anger than it’s been for all that time it’s spent sitting on that mantelpiece!”

At that, your eyes widen. Then, you raise them to Vriska’s expectantly smirking face, and you shake your head slowly, wonderingly. “I always knew you were callous,” you say in a quiet voice. “But only now do I realise just how self-centred and cruel you are, you complete _psychopath_.”

Vriska jolts back as if she’s been slapped. Her cerulean lips hang open comically for a second, and then her face twists into an ugly glare.

“Funny that you should think you have the right to call me that, when you’re the way you are,” she hisses at you. “Weak, no ambition at all, happy to let anyone use you as a doormat! Who’s the one who brings in all the income for this household? And yet, who’s the one who’s still at college getting a useless fucking biology degree that you’ll never be able to get any decent jobs with?! Now that I think about it, how did someone like you get into Harvard anyway? There’s no way you would have had the drive to get a high enough score in the SATs. Oh, _I_ know. You probably used your rich-ass father to bribe your way in!”

You’re blinking away furious tears as you prepare to raise your voice in reply— then a small, timid voice interrupts you.

“Daddy? Mommy?” Casey, Vriska’s and your daughter, stands at the foot of the stairs, fair hair dishevelled and big blue eyes blinking sleepily. She’s barefoot, dressed in only her Ghostbusters-themed nightgown and clutching her yellow salamander plush toy to her chest. “Why are you angry?”

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. Casey is only in kindergarten, still as innocent as you’ve been able to let her remain. She still thinks the world is a place full of magic and wonder, where fairies hide behind every leaf and unhappiness and hardship are remote and insubstantial. As a five year old should. But how are you going to explain this to her?

“Casey, don’t worry, it’s—” You begin, but then Vriska interjects with a sharp, barking laugh.

“Ha! And look at her. Always so disgustingly naïve and oblivious and carefree. Like father, like daughter, I guess! You’ll never amount to anything useful in your life, and neither will she.”

Despite not understanding most of what her mother said, Casey obviously recognises the scornful tone. Her bottom lip begins to tremble and she begins to sniffle slightly. You walk over to her and scoop her up into your arms, shushing her gently and petting her hair until the tears abate. Then, spine stiff and mouth set into a hard, straight line, you turn to your wife.

“That’s it, Vriska. We’re done here.” You tell her firmly. “You and I both know that this relationship has been falling apart for a long time now. I thought we could fix things over time, but now I know that’s not going to be possible. It’s obvious that you don’t care about me or our daughter, so this ends now.”

You begin to walk up the stairs that lead to Vriska’s and your shared bedroom, your footsteps falling a little faster and a little more forcefully than usual. “I’m going to pack mine and Casey’s stuff now. We’ll be out of here in an hour. To show my appreciation for your supporting this family and funding my education all these years, I leave this house to you. Contact me in a month so we can arrange the divorce and allocate our assets.”

You enter the bedroom and set Casey down onto the bed. Then, you make your way over to the closet and retrieve your blue suitcase and a small backpack, which you place on the ground. You begin pulling out clothes, shoes, socks, underwear, and other articles of clothing, violently stuffing them into the suitcase with none of your usual neatness and care. Your vision blurs as the tears you had barely held back earlier brim over and spill in useless rivulets down your cheeks. Drops land on the pair of jeans in your arms, and small, dark circles appear on the fabric.

A small, tentative hand on your arm makes you turn around. Casey is looking up at you, her ocean-blue eyes full of questions. “Daddy…?”

You debate lying to her and telling her that you’re just taking her on a holiday trip, and that you’ll come back home very soon. But, young though she may be, Casey’s not stupid. She heard the argument, and she’s seeing you cry now. Besides, she has the right to know. It will only be more painful if you try to explain it to her later.

Sighing, you wipe away your tears and take her into your arms. “Your mommy… she hasn’t been a very good mom to you, or a very good wife to me. Not for the past few years, at least.” You pause, searching for the right words. “I’m… not happy here with her. And I don’t think you’re happy either. People shouldn’t stay with people who make them feel sad or upset; they should try to find happiness.”

“Mommy doesn’t love us?” Casey asks quietly.

Your voice is strained when you reply: “No… no, she doesn’t.”

“So, we’re leaving her and not coming back?”

“Yes, Casey. I’m sorry.” You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see your daughter’s look of reproach.

But when you feel Casey’s little arms wrap around you, you open your eyes. She’s looking up at you, gaze clear and calm, no trace of resentment or blame to be found on her face. “Okay, Daddy,” she says softly. “I understand.”

You choke up again as you hold her tightly to you. Casey is truly the only good thing to have come out of your relationships with Vriska. “Thank you, Casey,” you murmur into her hair. “You’re the best daughter Daddy could ever have hoped for. I love you.”

Pulling back from the hug, you place your hands on her shoulders, now resolute. “Alright, princess,” you begin. “Go to your room and get dressed. Then find some things that you want to bring with you. But don’t get too much, because this suitcase doesn’t hold a lot. When you’re done, come find me.”

Casey nods, and scampers off to do just that. You stand up, your heart just a little lighter, and begin to pack with renewed vigour. After you’ve taken out all the clothing you need, you begin to find other essentials. Your wallet, your phone, the keys to your car, your stationery and textbooks (you’re not going to give up your degree because a measly divorce, after all!), and a few other trinkets are all thrown into your backpack. You go through the corridor to the bathroom, where you pack toothbrushes, toothpaste, combs, a travel-sized shampoo and conditioner, a first aid kit, and a few over-the-counter drugs all into a small bag, which you then stuff into your backpack as well.

Deeming that to be sufficient, you make your way to Casey’s room. You find your daughter standing beside a small pile of dolls, toys and books in the middle of her room. “Casey, that should be enough,” you say to her. “Any more and we won’t be able to fit it in my suitcase.”

“Oh, just one more thing!” Casey exclaims, and quickly runs over to her bedside table, opening the small drawer on its side and taking out a slightly tattered spider plush toy. You immediately recognise it as the very one that Vriska had bought for Casey right after her birth. It’s the only possession of your daughter’s that was given to her by her mother. Casey holds the spider almost reverently as she places it on top of the pile.

As soon as she could after the birth, Vriska had dived back into her job as a financial advisor. She’d concentrated all of her being into her work, and as a result, she’d been promoted to CEO after her predecessor had retired. Which, combined with your dad’s support, meant that cash was positively rolling in for your family, and you were able to focus fully on your biology course at Harvard without having to a take a job on the side. But it was not without consequences. Vriska had had minimal participation in Casey’s raising over the last five years.

So, it goes without saying that the spider plush is your daughter’s most treasured toy. It’s the only evidence that her mother has ever felt some semblance of love towards her. Your heart clenches in sadness, but you force a smile onto your face.

“Alright sweetie, let’s get all of that packed in.” You place the items in Casey’s pile into your suitcase with much more care than you did your own possessions. Then you grab a few of Casey’s outfits from her chest of drawers and put them in the very top. Zipping the suitcase up securely, you note with satisfaction how everything just fits. Then you hoist your backpack over your shoulder, lift the luggage up in one hand, and grab your daughter’s hand in the other.

“Let’s go.” You squeeze Casey’s hand affectionately, and she smiles up at you. Then you walk down the stairs together.

With Vriska’s silence, you’d been worried that she might have been planning something drastic in revenge. But when you come down, the living room is the same as usual, barring the broken vase that had started the entire argument in the first place, which is still on the floor near the wall, its shards intermingled with ash. Vriska’s sitting stiffly on the couch, a newspaper in her lap, her head turned down and determinedly not looking at you.

You sigh silently and lead Casey through the small hallway to the front door. You lift your hand and rest it on the doorhandle. The sharp cold of the metal under your skin stirs up all tumultuous uncertainty and apprehension and unuttered words that had settled heavily in your chest like sediment over the years. You open your mouth, prepare to say something, anything… but then your courage fails you, and your jaw falls shut with nary a sound.

You push down on the handle and swing the door open, stepping out into the noiseless night, and you are greeted with nothing but the obsidian sky and indifferent stars.


End file.
